


Sirius A

by dvinare



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Idiots in Love, Inspired by Poetry, M/M, Model Lee Jeno, Multi, Non-Explicit Sex, Yearning, desire as an allconsuming feeling, jaemin as a pseudo-vampire, leaching off of richard siken and mitski yet again, photographer jaemin, summer and fire metaphors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-19 14:08:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22712023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dvinare/pseuds/dvinare
Summary: The entire history of human desire can be captured in a single photograph.
Relationships: Huang Ren Jun/Lee Jeno, Huang Ren Jun/Lee Jeno/Na Jaemin, Huang Ren Jun/Na Jaemin, Lee Jeno/Na Jaemin
Comments: 5
Kudos: 65





	Sirius A

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lemonimpact](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemonimpact/gifts).



> i'm dedicating this story to my lovely girlfriend kasia. happy valentines day baby!
> 
> this is an old idea which i decided to expand on, but ended up speed-writing without any actual plot. few months back i had a very vivid imagery of a story where jeno is renjun and jaemin's muse( i was't able to feature artist renjun here but the original concept had him as one).  
> fun fact: the orginal title of this story was "draw me/photograph me like one of your french girls" because i wanted to base it loosely around titanic, sadly it went into a completely different direction so the title had to be scratched.

Click, clack, click, clack.

Zoom in, zoom out, just a little bit more, focus the lens, press the shutter button lightly and release slowly. Snap, snap, snapshot. 

The camera is old, nothing like the expensive equipment in his office. The lens is dirty, cracked here, cracked there. The pictures come out overexposed, a little smudged, not entirely focused. They’re perfect. The camera is an age old gift, the pictures capture those who picked it, wrapped it in pink paper, hid it for three months and surprise! 

Happy birthday. You’re sixteen years old. You have survived a fifth of your life expectancy. Be happy, celebrate.

Click, clack, click, clack.

You’re twenty now and summer vacation is finally coming to an end. Ah, how long has it been now since you last saw the other seasons? Greet them properly, they’ve missed you.

Zoom in on the display. Fall in love all over again. Looks like summer is not over yet. Marvel at their beauty because the pictures have no worth outside this bedroom. They fail to capture even a fraction of the gleam they shine with, but they are yours and yours alone to look at. Headless, faceless,only you can tell who the bodies in the frame belong to. Run a finger over the screen, your hands are trembling, the pictures are blurred along the edges because nothing shakes you up, nothing makes you lose control over your own body like seeing them together. Bad pictures, good pictures, save, delete, save, delete. You can’t erase them, not from the memory card and definitely not from your mind. It’s a crime and you’re short on money this month, you can’t afford to pay the price so they live. These pictures are the sole evidence that you quiver in their presence, rely on blind instincts only, because their soft whispers deafen you and the intensity of their gazes blinds you. 

Take a picture again, one that’s out of focus, one where two bodies are embracing. The composition is off, the arrangement of the contents in the frame leans to the right, leaving too much empty space on the left. Left- the part of the bed which is empty, Jaemin’s designated spot.

The image looks something like this- a bed taking up most of the room, sheets wrinkled, two angels. One could argue their origin because no creature serving God would hold his heart captive deliberately but the two of them have had dual ownership on it for years now. God is dead and maybe they’re demons but they’re too good, too beautiful so angels is the final verdict. 

Lee Jeno lays in the middle- frame massive, shoulders wide, muscles bulging and defined and yet there is something inexplicably gentle about him, a softness which derives from his small waist, the lack of body hair which comes as part of the job description- being a model, after all, is more about selling false hopes and beliefs that one day you too can look like a heavily photoshopped man in his early twenties, than advertising whatever brand has offered him enough money to flash his naked torso and smile for the camera. His arms are strong, could probably lift his lovers both with them, but the person possessing them is far too kind. He stops to pet stray cats and doesn't make even the tiniest noise when they scratch him accidentally, the type of person who cries only out of helplessness, blind rage for those around him, for their foul destiny, rarely for himself.

_Learn to be more selfish Lee Jeno._

His arm connects to a skinny wrist which is more often than not adorned with silver jewelry- all of it gifts from his dearly beloved ones. The hand is big, it easily covers small objects, it engulfs Renjun's whole, it extends into skinny, long fingers- the hand of a pianist, in this case someone interested in wood carving. The nails are well kept, the cuticles pushed back making the bed look big even if they're cut short. A transparent coat of nail polish covers it. Sometimes the colour is light peach, others royal blue, when he feels in the mood he even paints them red. 

_Red-_ the colour of passion, a common misconception based on his strong features and timid personally suggests the lack of this strong feeling. That theory is easily debunked if you were to walk in on the three during their off time. While yes, Jeno is the anchor in more than one ways he's also a sea storm when the conditions are right, when the time calls for it. He possesses the power of a typhoon but uses it much like his physical strength- to protect instead of attack, a nurturer. Jeno the caretaker, Jeno the scale who rarely budges to favor one more than the other, Jeno the one who dares fall apart only behind closed doors, where sticky love and warm hands will put him back together after they're done pleasuring his body.

Embracing his naked, covered with shiny jems body is Huang Renjun. Jaemin’s insides curl at the mere mention of the man’s name, winces at the aftertaste it leaves in his mouth. Renjun embodies everything he never dreamed for,yet learned to desire with such burning fervor, it makes him fear for his sanity. It should be terrifying how much strength Renjun practices over them, how he can bring them to their knees with a few sugar coated words, how he can get anything he wants with just the snap of his annoyingly beautiful fingers. He could put a bullet through their heads and they’d take it willingly, would probably crawl out of their graves to ask if there’s anything else they can do for him. He’d greet them with a shy smile and they’d be revived just like that- their skin will be new yet to be stretched out from old age, the worms which have slithered in their empty skulls would be gone. Blood pumping, limbs buzzing with excess energy, they’re young. They’re all at their highest peaks, it’s the only time they get to live and make mistakes and not learn from them. Steal a pack of cheap no name brand beer from the local supermarket, get smashed on a park bench, take a picture, stick it on the wall so when they’re old and wrinkled they can say:

_I once lived too,see?_

With Renjun by their side even death seems temporary, it’s a doable errand in the sense that nothing in this universe is strong enough to sever the pretty red ribbon which has tied them together for one eternity, for two eternities, for three. So why waste time being scared?

Renjun has cradled Jeno firmly, skinny arms thrown over his narrow waist, pressing him to his front, breathing heavily into his neck. Despite the difference in size, Jeno manages to shrink and look almost small. Renjun’s arms are slender, covered with thin black hairs, defined in a way which isn’t noticeable at first glance but filled up enough to give him the confidence to challenge Jaemin to physical brawls every once in a while.It tickles his ego pleasantly even if he wins only less than half of the time. He could easily talk Jaemin down on his knees but doing it with his bare hands brings him a special type of bliss, one which washes him in waves and leaves him gasping for air. The arousal which topples them over on the bed after a particularly brutal and mildly sexually charged fight is an added bonus.

And the way in which Renjun's wrist bones are the single most beautiful thing in the world, bony on the eyes, gentle to the touch, wrist small enough that Jaemin can wrap his hand around it twice if he tried stretching the extra mile. His fingers are shorter than Jeno's and a birthmark blooms right under his knuckles which both Jeno and Jaemin like to trace and kiss over.

Not for the first time Jaemin thinks: _“I want to eat them whole.”_

He, himself finds it hard to to tie this string of words to a single universal meaning. Does he want to consume them out of greed, to satiate his own selfish cravings? Or is it some twisted take on wanting to keep them as close as possible, to the point where they all melt from the heat and become one greater being? Jaemin can never tell. The only truth he willingly admits to is that when his gums start aching and his sharp canines draw first blood from his already chapped-beyond-repair lips, he is the most alive a mortal can be. His blood circulates, neverending, it reaches the critical parts in his body, warms up the tips of his toes. Hot blood, red blood, spill blood..drink blood?

But anyways this story is about human desire and human desire has many shapes and forms, it never remains constant, a chameleon. It’s intimate- staring at a person’s back and imagining what it would feel like to fall asleep next to them; mundane- peeling an orange and realizing how bad you want to build a home with the people you will feed it to; ugly- laying awake, next to those who carved the meaning of love into your bare chest with a pocket knife, and letting your insecurities eat you alive; it’s disgusting- kissing the shells of their ears and wanting to bite them off.

Right now it’s raw and primal, edging him on until he reaches the point of no return. 

It’s gripping the camera to the point of breaking it because Jaemin wants, he wants them both and it’s pitiful. He wants to dirty the sheets, hold and be held, pleasure and be pleasured. It’s nothing like the first time they did it- quick and haste, inexperience showing in their every move, no, this feeling is richer in texture, dense and thick. It’s mud but instead of smearing it on their faces like kids do after it rains, they coat their bodies in it, not an inch left clean nor pristine.

Jaemin rearranges their position and feels a hammer come in contact with his shins. His knees buckle and in any other situation he would have fallen, however that would risk the possibility of damaging their dear gift and doing that would equate, if not surpass, the excruciating pain one feels right before they bid their farewell to this damned world.

He stares hungrily at the soft skin of Jeno’s back, practices a great deal of self control as to not sink his teeth in the scapulae and witness white wings spring free through the bleeding gaps. Instead Jaemin zooms in on Renjun’s small hands and the way he digs his nails into Jeno’s slim waist, right below the shiny belly necklace. Jeno’s front is not visible but he can almost see the way his flat stomach tenses and relaxes. Renjun’s touches are never just touches, they are well calculated movements meant to turn their hearts into gooey mush. Renjun loves sticking his hands through their chests, using his fingers to prod at the sticky substance, mold it to his liking and they let him. It is as easy as that. Loving them can be difficult at times but it’s so incredibly simple when they’re laying on the bed covers, bodies sweating, panting as they let one man reach inside and touch parts which have never experienced the soft padding of fingers before.

Renjun grips Jeno’s hips to stop him from moving around and raises his upper body, peaking over the younger’s shoulder with _those_ eyes. Jaemin snaps a photo without realizing, too focused on the way Renjun is staring directly at him, pupils dark and burning with the intensity of Sirius A. Once again, Jaemin comes to the frightening realization that Renjun is the brightest star in the Milky Way and his pull is stronger than any, tugging him in his direction with intensity which threatens to tear his skin off if he resists. 

Renjun and Jeno- the centers of the galaxy, and him pitiful young man- he shall love them both.

Renjun stretches out a thin finger and beckons him, a silent command to disregard anything fragile and soft, unleash the beast inside. _Come, paint the room’s walls red with blood, so that it can never be erased. We loved and were loved, everyone needs to see it._

And it is maddening- the way Renjun doesn’t need to utter a single word. All he’s required to do is tie their gazes together, run his nails over Jeno’s lower back in a manner intentional, purposefully letting Jaemin gawk at the way he shivers under the simple touch and Jaemin is gone, far gone, long gone, was he there to begin with? Jaemin keeps fading out with each passing day, his lovers’ luminosity burning him out, turning him into fine dust. Wind-blow and he’s gone. It sounds grim and it should be but Jaemin can’t think of another person, people, who’s touch he’d willingly wither under, die with almost no regrets. 

The dust is his devotion to loving eternally, until they day their bones are old and grind hard against each other painfully, until they can no longer stand up on their own. Okay so maybe he would die with one regret, it being never squeezing out the last drop of his melted heart, so what? Big deal. No one dies having accomplished everything, sometimes life is a bitch and buries its dirty claws into your soft flesh- it’s a punishment for loving too hard; but then again, sometimes it shows mercy and lets him exist for extended periods of time, wrapped in familiar arms until he’s lulled to sleep.

Fuck. Jaemin’s body is burning up again. He’s moving closer to the bed, camera long forgotten somewhere in the distance, and is it really okay? For him to flare up with such vigor, to accept his fate, listen to Renjun’s permission and incinerate the entire room as a result of his all consuming hunger? Jaemin leaves a trail of his clothes behind before his knee dips into the soft mattress. The fire inside doubling, tripling, when Jeno turns to look at him- eyes doppy, fluttering like butterfly wings, the low light making the shadow his long eyelashes cast over his cheeks all the more prominent. Jaemin cups his face with one hand, Jeno nuzzling into the palm instinctively, the gesture pouring cold water over the fire, subduing it slightly, having it dance now instead of rage. His skin is smooth like fine silk, shaved perfectly, making Jeno look young and everlasting. Jaemin observes the faint pink colour, settled on the high cheekbones, which contrasts Jeno’s sharp features. He softens at the sight and is reminded about just how far he’s fallen for the two boys. The fall hurt once upon a time, being met with solid concrete left him bruised all over, but their kind touches and easy lips healed him almost immediately. 

Jeno, still sitting on Renjun’s lap, leans his head into Jaemin’s chest, nosing the skin, leaving behind feather kisses until he reaches the juncture where neck meets shoulder, resting there. His hair tickles Jaemin, making him break into his infamous scarily wide grin, trying to stifle the laughter bubbling inside. He feels fingers tracing his tight stomach only to look up and see Renjun’s lips stretch smugly, as he plays with the dark hairs of his happy trail. Jaemin can’t take soft, teasing touches, the feeling of being caressed with so much care drives him insane. It has him relive falling for them all over again, forces his eyes on the big screen which broadcasts their story to the entire world- that time Renjun pierced his left ear with a needle in the bathroom; Jeno rinsing the hole with saltwater when it got infected; losing a bet to the two and getting a tramp stamp with their names written in comic sans. Jaemin experienced countless of his firsts with them, memories forever embedded in his brain- going on a road trip with no plan, getting a mild alcohol poisoning, losing his virginity, falling on his ass at the ice skating rink, the list is endless. 

And they’ve touched him like that before, they have, but the thing about being theirs is that every event feels new and monumental,no matter how many times it has occured prior.

Jaemin takes a big, deep breathe, filling his lungs to their full capacity, and exhales slowly as he lets them do as they please with his body. Renjun plays with the long black hair at his nape, moving his hand eventually to tuck a strand behind his ear, kissing the lobe which peaks underneath. Jeno barely moves, panting quietly in his neck, the warm breath making Jaemin shiver. He desperately wishes to capture the moment on tape, add it on the wall at home, a keepsake. Jaemin considers setting up the camera and recording everything- his trembling hands, Jeno’s strong back shaking, Renjun’s ears burning up in perfect contrast to his bold movements, but he cannot do such a thing. It would mean getting up, leaving their warm embrace, shattering the moment with a baseball bat. Time is as tender and breakable as glass, living in it always ends up being more worthwhile, compared to obsessing over catching every small detail on tape. Sure, in a few months time Jaemin won’t remember the colour of the hotel’s bedsheets, nor the paintings hung over the bed frame, however the feeling of a phantom hand tracing his spine will linger for years, as will the sensation of his toes curling as he reaches his peak.

Everything turns into a mess gradually as they let their bodies sink into the soft mattress, the dip feels allconsuming, like they’re being swallowed whole. The touches they exchange are like the insides of a honey jar left in direct sunlight during summer- dripping and sticky. The room grows with humidity making it hard to breathe. Beads of sweat roll down their backs and foreheads, hair damp and sticking in random directions, both from the heat and the gentle hands running through it. Their lungs are burning from the fervent movements, as they roll on the huge surface of the bed, and the excess smoke fumes clinging to every surface. Their legs and arms shaking, mouths wide open- whispering confessions of forever love, edging on with nasty words, spilling quiet, melodious whimpers, as spit trickles down their chins and chests. The room becomes well and truly theirs- no amount of detergent can erase their combined scents, no fabric softener can smoothen out the wrinkled sheets, the bed forever shaped after the form of three bodies fused beyond entanglement. 

White bliss, back arching, end scene.

  
  
  
  


Tap, tap, tap. Naked feet against the carpeted floor. Jaemin, body nude, back facing the drawn open curtains, white light bathing the entire room, shiny brilliance. Joints popping, tail bone aching hollowly, morning shower. The window is cracked open slightly, letting in cool, fresh air. The fusty smell of old furniture and sweat mixing with brisk wind.

Deft fingers picking up the camera, lens focusing, snap, snap. It’s them, it’s _the_ angels- roughened up, bitten necks, chewed up ankles, lipstick smears. Jeno- head laid on Renjun’s chest, makeup smudged, weight crushing the man under. Renjun- nose buried in blonde hair which roots are starting to show, arm secured around Jeno’s waist, lip cut from impatience while kissing Jaemin. They’re ravished, they’re whole, they’re particles of the same being, they’re in love. Love as a shield against the imminent concept named time.

The entire history of human desire can be captured in a single photograph.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for your continuous support now if you'll excuse me i'll go climb my girl like a tree( i promised to feature this in the notes and mama didn't raise no quiter so pls don't kill me baby)  
> twitter- [@jenoarmpit](https://twitter.com/jenoarmpit)  
> instagram- [@mlmkillua](https://www.instagram.com/mlmkillua/)


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